


Cirque Du Archives

by AlexandeNight



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A little canon divergent, AlexandeNight, Angst, Blood, Body Horor, Danny Stoker - Freeform, Gen, Martin Blackwood - Freeform, The Circus - Freeform, Tim is hurt, Whump, h/c, hurt comfort, mentioned - Freeform, not to much though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27681937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandeNight/pseuds/AlexandeNight
Summary: Tim Stoker stumbled into the archives, bloody and hurt.  Demanding to talk to Jon.  Having just escaped the clutches of the circus.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Cirque Du Archives

Jon dropped his pen, sitting back in his office chair rubbing itchy eyes. Another day done, another statement recorded. Another step closer to bringing down the circus- the _Unknowing-_

Hopefully-

He sighed. Sending a silent curse towards Elias and his cryptic messages. Why couldn’t he just give Jon Gertrude’s notes on the _Unknowing?._ He was tired of feeling like a naughty child being led around by an ear. His eyes prickled again and he stared blankly at the computer screen. It would be best to call it a night.

He began to pack up, tucking papers into a briefcase, pulling on his coat and giving a fond pat to the lucky cat figurine on his bookshelf. 

“Here’s to hoping no one’s interested in the Archivist tonight, eay?”

The lucky cat cheerfully waved a paw.

“Right.” 

The only thing Jon hated more than coming into the Archives was leaving them. The number of times he’d been snatched bordered on comical, if it hadn’t hurt so much. Time had really gotten away from him today, then again, that wasn’t exactly new. He considered calling a cab. There hadn’t been any statements concerning cabs or cabbies that he knew of. The underground, delivery vans and walking home felt perilous this late, but a cab- Of course, he knew just because a statement wasn’t in the archives, that there weren’t entity tied cabbies; but it provided the illusion of safety all the same

Jon opened the door and came face to face with-

“T-Tim!”

“We need to talk-boss.” he said, sagging against the door jam, teetering forwards in an unbalanced fashion. 

Jon hurriedly put a bracing hand on his chest, “E-easy now. What on-”

“Don’t touch me!” he exploded, shoving Jon back, so that he nearly tripped over the spare chair, briefcase and folders sent flying. Then, softer “don’ t-touch-me.” He was shaking now.

It hurt. _Course_ it hurt, but Jon couldn’t help feel that it was deserved. Jon couldn’t remember the last time Tim had willingly sought him out, yet alone used the old nickname of _‘boss’._ Every inch of him screamed that something was _wrong_. 

“Right.” he said, holding his hands placatingly in front “I’m not touching you-” something damp and sticky on his fingers caught his attention. 

_Blood_.

There was blood on his hand, Tim’s blood. He was _hurt_!

“Y-you’re bleeding.”

“It doesn’t matter!” he was shouting again “ _God_ , why can’t you just-just _Listen_ ! T-The Circus- _Christ_!” he stopped abruptly, clutching at his front.

Jon froze. “The _circus_ ?” breath hitching as the ghost of calliope music echoed through his skull. Hands, hard and plastic, grabbing him, holding him down, while he...he… _lord_ “Tim! What happened-what-”

“Stop with the _Questions_!” Tim shook with the force of his voice, visibly distressed. Jon snapped his mouth shut in horror. The compulsion- he hadn’t meant too-

“Sorry, _sorry_ Tim- I-I didn’t _mean-_ ”

“Shut up.” He was swaying dangerously, the door no longer sufficient in keeping him upright. Resisting the compulsion had taken what little strength he had left. 

Tim tipped forwards, swearing, Jon rushed to catch him as his legs caved. Never known as a strong man, Jon nearly buckled under the weight of his assistant. A confused tangle of arms and clothing. This close, the scent of blood was overwhelming. Tim made a pathetic sound, clinging to Jon with surprising force. For his part, Jon willed himself to get the man to a chair. He _could_ do that much. He _had_ too. 

It was less than graceful. He jostled the taller man something fierce. What little color there was, fled his face and his eyes started to flutter. 

“Tim.” Jon said, carefully holding his head, keeping him steady. “Tim, I need you to breath. Are you with me?” He blinked blearily, until he focused on Jon’s face. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“Good.” Jon’s eyes drifted down to the dark stain spreading across the hawaian shirt, the cream flowers shaded red. He slid the coat open wider, finding Tim’s entire front was covered. He started at the buttons, wanting to get a clear picture of what they were dealing with. Tim grabbed his wrist. “We need to stop the bleeding.” Jon explained. 

Tim shook his head belligerent. “We need to talk-” 

“And we will. Just, let me _help-_ first.” 

Tim held him a moment longer before relenting with a surly “Fine.” Jon eased the coat off his shoulders and started at the buttons once more. Each fastening undone revealed more of the goary scape of Tim’s chest. That’s when he caught sight of- _Christ_ \- lettors! 

There were letters crudely carved into Tim’s flesh. Jon felt sick reading the message.

> **_COME DANCE~_ **
> 
> **_N.O._ **

Nikola Orsinov had...

“Oh- _Tim_ -” Jon felt a sharp pang lance through him as he stared at the ragged skin. “I-we-” he took a breath, his stomach churning “I’ll be back, we need the first aid kit.” He got as far as the door before turning “Just... stay put.” then took off towards the employee lounge. 

Jon braced himself on the sink, feeling as though he was going to be sick. The _Circus_ and-and _skin-_

 _“Christ_ Tim.” he caught sight of the blood streaked cross his hands. He had to wash it off, just _had_ to. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed them under hot water. Wanting to wash away the dirt, the grime the-the _grease_. 

It had looked so... _bad_ . He scrubbed, hoping the cuts were not too deep, hoping the muscles would be untouched, hoping that there wouldn’t be any-lasting-damage. The memory of plastic across his skin made him shudder. _Stupid_ of course there would be lasting damage, they’d _cut_ into his _skin_.

_Skin-_

Jon shuddered. The Circus was toying with them! And Tim! He was his boss, he was supposed to _protect_ his assistants! 

A nasty little voice in his head quirried “Like Sasha?”

More guilt twisted his insides. 

This was not alright. 

Tim needed looking after- Jon swore, wishing Martin hadn’t left for the day- wondering if it would be okay to call him back. He quickly dismissed the idea in favor of imagining how Martin may treat the wounds. The first aid kit- he needed to start there.

Martin always seemed to know where it was. Now that Jon needed it, it was nowhere to be found. He searched the lower shelves first. No first aid kit. Did find a large bowl and a few flannels. He remembered Martin washing him up with such things and decided they were useful. It wasn’t in the cupboard by the fridge, or the one over the microwave, wasn’t in the tea cabinet either, _damn-_ Martin would already be back with Tim by now, helping-

He glanced at his phone, wondering if he should call him after all. That wouldn’t be fair though. Martin deserved time away from this place. They _all_ did. 

At last he found it on the top shelf above the electric kettle. _Of course_ it would be there. The Archival staff were the ones who used it the most these days, Martin wouldn’t have trouble accessing it there. 

“Right.” Jon sighed and hopped up on the counter, pulling himself upright with the cabinet frames until he could wriggle the kit out of it’s lofty position. Before he left with his burden, Jon tucked a water bottle under his arm. The Circus consisted of beings of plastic and stuffing, they never thought about the needs of human bodies. 

“Didn’t run away then?” Tim quipped, hunched over Jon’s desk. 

“And miss your cheery face?” Jon shot back, words lacking any true bite. Jon sighed “Was trying to remember what Martin would do.” he cleared a space on the desk, carefully placing the items on his desk. 

“You didn’t call-”

“He’s gone home for today.” Jon said simply, offering the water to Tim who took it gingerly. “Didn’t think it would be fair to call him back.” 

Jon repositioned Tim so that they were facing each other and started to dab away at the bloody mess. Tim hissed and twiched under his attention, but remained quiet for once. 

In truth, Jon was much more adept at this sort of care than his assistance would have believed. He just never had patience for his own care. It was all so…. _tedious_ and easy to forget. But when it came to other people, Jonathan Sims was perfectly capable of providing treatment. It was just that he lacked Martin’s comforting presence, Sasha's wit or Tim’s charm. In short, he lacked people skills. He chose to leave such tasks to others.

“So” Jon said, continuing to clean the mess, “You said we needed to talk.” No compulsion this time.

“Yep.”

“Will this talk explain what happened here?” 

“Yep”

“Right.” he paused over the discoloration along Tim’s ribs, sure something had been damaged. “Whenever you're ready.”

“What, no tape recorder? No _statement._ ”

“Do we need a tape recorder for a _talk_ ?” In truth, Jon was itching to turn it on, to _compel_ Tim to tell him what happened, take his statement. But the last time he’d turned it on around Tim, things had gotten….difficult. Given the state of the man, Jon decided it could wait. 

Tim nodded, eyes closing and Jon resumed his work. 

“I- I went back, to where _it_ began.” he was speaking so softly Jon almost couldn’t hear, almost. 

“Back _where_?” A small stroke down, over his ribs sent a shiver through him.

“C-Covent Garden Theater-” he admonished.

“The Royal Opera House?” Jon’s mouth went dry. Martin had sent him the tape, express mail. It was the place Tim’s little brother had been taken by the Circus. Danny. 

“One in the same.”

“Thought you said you didn’t expect they’d let you go a second time.”

“Welp, they nearly didn’t, did they?” he was shaking again, “We needed leads. And with you galavanting cross the globe and Martin strung out on Statements, that left the _follow up_ to me, didn’t it?” 

“You shouldn’t have gone alone, you could at least of taken Martin, Melonly, Basira even or-”

“Don’t pretend to _care_ .” Tim burst out “You thought I’d _murdered_ someone! Followed me to my _home_! I can’t believe y- ugh!” he doubled over. The pain giving way to a choked sob. 

Jon floundered, wondering what on earth to do. He had to get used to so many different Tims- the cheerful one that gave good hugs and annoying practical jokes, the angry one Jon had pushed into a corner and now, this- this _defeated_ one. 

“W-We’re in the same boat, you and me.” he said softly “There’s no one in this p-place to trust. Heh- Maybe t-trust was an illusion all along- Last time I saw Sasha, _he_ was already dead. With something else _wearing_ his skin. Didn’t even notice.”He hiccuped “I was supposed to protect him- they trusted _me_ to protect him. And he’s dead.”

Jon was deeply unsettled by the broken quality to his voice “Tim, who are you talking about?”

“You listen to all the tapes, don’t you. You said as much.”

“Tim-”

“How many people are already dead, with something else _wearing_ their skin.” he seemed to be spiraling, this was why Jon didn’t _do_ this kind of thing! He didn’t know what to _do_ or _say_ in this situation “They wanted to _wear_ you too, didn’t they?” 

It was like a punch to the gut. Jon didn’t know what was going to be said next, all he knew was that he didn’t want to hear….or did he?

“They wanted to wear _you_ more than they wanted me- And you know what? It _sang_ to me as it cut me open, put a m-mirror above- made sure I could _see_ the whole _show-_ ” Tim was crying now, rocking back and forth. “Sang to me about the _archivist-_ about how it wanted its _skin_ . Your _skin._ ” another sob racked through him “H-h-how c-come- how come it didn’t finish _me_ off? How come it didn’t take me like it did Danny?! Or Sasha! _Jesus_!”

Jon didn’t know what to say. Perhaps there would have been a time before all of <i>this </i>started, back in research- Tim had been diffrent then,they all had been.

The silence stretched on while Jon resumed the treatment.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, questions or constructive critiques are appreciated ^^  
> Constructive critiques include _both_ likes AND challenges.
> 
> Until I wrote this, I never thought about how deeply Tim was marked by the _Stranger_. 
> 
> If you like this, tell me! There is enough in here for a part II. I ran out of steam and it was more difficult to finish than anticipated. 
> 
> Thanks for reading ^^


End file.
